


desire

by Randomfandoms389



Series: D for... [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, FrUSUK, I know this and I'm sorry, M/M, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Threesome - M/M/M, but it HAD to match the series titles, cardsverse, the title is so bland
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:07:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26299147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Randomfandoms389/pseuds/Randomfandoms389
Summary: “Oh, fuuck,” Arthur breathes then, breathless and shaky and so hot that Alfred has to knock back his drink, barely feeling the burn of the whiskey down his throat as he crosses one leg over the other and watches everything with half-lidded eyes. “M-mmh, right there… Francis-!”Gods, that was hot too. Alfred knows that it’s somewhat strange of him, not being bothered in the least by his mate calling out another alpha’s name in bed, being touched by another alpha and so intimately too, with hands roaming all over him, tweaking his nipples and teasing his inner thighs.It was odd but he didn't mind, truthfully
Relationships: America/England (Hetalia), America/England/France (Hetalia), England/France (Hetalia)
Series: D for... [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1910851
Comments: 2
Kudos: 58





	desire

**Author's Note:**

> hello hi it’s exam season now! Well, prelims season at least, since the real thing is in November. I still probably should Not be writing now but I was feeling kinda dead inside and needed some serotonin so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> The ending may be a litttttlle abrupt but i'm out of time and panicking over math now pls don't mind me

Arthur’s birthday celebrations had been an extravagant affair, one benefiting a beloved queen of a prosperous kingdom that had always jumped at any chance for a party. There’d been good food, copious amounts of alcohol and an abundance of various important people in attendance, of whom Alfred should probably have been mingling with and charming over right now. Well, there was always tomorrow, he supposed. Besides, Yao and Matthew could hold the fort well enough tonight, with both the king and queen of Spades absent. Diamonds was down one of its rulers too, anyway, so that evened things out somewhat. 

Alfred leans back in his chair, swirling his drink absently. The clink of ice is quiet in the room, barely audible over the muffled moans from the bed, the gasps and cries from a certain queen and the soft murmurs from the alpha leaning over him.

It really was fortunate that Alfred wasn't a very territorial man. Jealousy had never been his thing, so to speak, though he did quite like marking up Arthur’s neck and chest and soft, creamy thighs. Gods, Alfred loved those thighs, the way they felt under his palms, the freckles splattered all over fair skin. And he especially liked having them wrapped around his waist or pressed to either side of his head or simply spread wide for his fingers to delve in between; it all depended on how he was fucking Arthur that day.

So did Francis, judging by the way he’s running his hands over the pale expanse of Arthur’s legs and cooing praise into one flushed ear as the queen squirms and buries his face in the mattress to muffle his pretty little sounds.

They looked good together, Alfred thinks, all pale skin and fair hair, limbs tangled and sweat shining on their bodies. Arthur’s on his knees, hips tilted up and hands fisted in the sheets as Francis drives into him, somehow even making sex - an incredibly messy affair, in Alfred’s ample experience - look elegant and graceful. His hair is perfect, tied back with a dark blue ribbon, Spadian colours, matching the flags and banners that Alfred, in his chair by the window, can see flying outside from the corner of his eye. It was already dark out, but the party seemed to be going strong, with all the noise and music and laughter and cheers coming from the courtyard. 

He studies the movement of Francis’ hips, the way the other alpha angles himself and slides deep into Arthur’s body, the minute adjustments and undeniable skill behind them. No, Alfred’s not jealous of anything except perhaps Francis’ talents in the bedroom and the way they’re leaving Arthur half-undone, moaning mindlessly and rocking back for more. It’s not that Alfred’s never gotten Arthur to this state but the almost casual ease that Francis manages is pretty impressive, with how stubborn and reserved Alfred knows his queen is. He feels a bit like he should be taking notes, almost, maybe asking Francis for tips afterwards. 

“Oh, _fuuck_ ,” Arthur breathes then, breathless and shaky and so _hot_ that Alfred has to knock back his drink, barely feeling the burn of the whiskey down his throat as he crosses one leg over the other and watches everything with half-lidded eyes. “M-mmh, right there… _Francis-!_ ”

Gods, that was hot too. Alfred knows that it’s somewhat strange of him, not being bothered in the least by his mate calling out another alpha’s name in bed, being _touched_ by another alpha and so intimately too, with hands roaming all over him, tweaking his nipples and teasing his inner thighs.

It was odd but he didn't mind, truthfully; Diamonds was a good ally and Francis was a good friend and a good fuck, if even half the rumours Alfred’s heard about the man’s sexual escapades had a grain of truth. Arthur did deserve nothing but the best, after all, in Alfred’s opinion. His queen, his lovely, lovely queen deserved to be _spoiled_ , nevermind whoever was doing the spoiling. And it was his birthday, which called for something special and there was really no better present than offering him the chance to act on the occasional lingering glance Alfred saw exchanged between his queen and their ally. 

There was attraction there, but he knows Arthur would never have acted on the thought if Alfred hadn't agreed to it, which makes all the difference, really. Arthur wouldn't even have mentioned it, even, he knows; tonight’s more… _private_ festivities had been set up by Alfred himself, and Francis too.

Alfred quite liked Francis. He was pretty good company for someone who flirted incessantly and acted like he would fuck anything that moved - the important bit was that he backed off when asked and somehow managed the flirting without ever being lecherous. And right now, he was touching Arthur, yeah, but politely. Respectfully, even, if that was possible for someone soundly fucking Arthur into the mattress, clearly aware that he was a guest here. There are kiss marks peppered all over Arthur but Francis has been careful not to bite. His queen’s neck is unmarked, pale and curved and inviting as it is in the dimness of their room, and it’s a courtesy that Alfred appreciates. 

He probably won't object if Arthur ever wanted to do this again, albeit not solely out of the goodness of his heart. Alfred’s pretty open-minded if he did say so himself. He liked omegas, liked their scent, their curves and their softness but alphas weren't half bad either. And Francis was pretty and he did smell good, with his sort of flowery (lavender? Alfred thinks) perfume that felt mellow enough not to raise Alfred’s hackles.

He wouldn't have minded fucking Francis himself, really. Or just sitting here all night, admiring the curve of Arthur’s spine and the pitch of his moans or the sharp cut of Francis’ jawbone and the clench of his ass as he fucked Arthur into a sloppy, pleasured mess over silk sheets.

But then Arthur twists about under Francis, one hazy green eye opening enough to meet Alfred’s across the room and his lips, kiss-swollen and wet, parting for what might have been the syllables of Alfred’s name... Alfred’s on his feet before he knows it, glass in hand as he meanders over to the bed. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says, lightly, sitting at the edge and smiling down at his trembling mate, stroking his sweat-damp hair. Francis offers him a smile too, easy and unassuming, his hands braced on Arthur’s hips, a question in his pale blue eyes, _do you want to-?_

_Nah. Keep doing what you're doing._

_As you say, then._

Francis keeps thrusting and Alfred, attention back on his mate, curves a hand under Arthur’s jaw, tipping his head back gently to take in his flushed cheeks, his too-bright, unfocused eyes, the slackness of his reddened mouth.

“Gods, look at you.” Alfred rubs his thumb over Arthur’s bottom lip, balances his glass carefully on his knee so it wouldn't spill. He quite likes how unaffected he probably looked then, all put-together and still in his fine clothes from earlier while Arthur’s fully naked and on his knees, these soft, helpless noises slipping out of him with every movement of Francis’ hips against his, the contrast of it all.

“You're such a mess, sweetheart,” he croons, pitching his voice for just the perfect blend of delightedly smug and sweetly condescending that has Arthur instinctively trying to scowl at him and failing, of course. 

“How many times has it been already, hmm? Can you even remember? You've come on the sheets, all over yourself… your clothes are ruined now, you know that, honey? Francis’ too, now that I think about it.”

“Oh, that old thing,” says their new bedmate, mouth twitching up. He angles his hips again, does a complex little swirling motion with them that makes Arthur jolt, lashes fluttering as he moans. “Thinking nothing of it, _mon cheri_. Your pleasure -” Another thrust that has Arthur gasping for breath, fingers twisting tightly in the sheets. “-more than makes up for the loss of any amount of clothing.”

“Sweet-talker,” Alfred says appreciatively. He runs the pad of one finger down Arthur’s cheek, finding it almost feverishly warm. His queen really was too cute. “We can agree on that though, you know that, Arthur, honey?”

Arthur doesn't say anything to that but well, Francis had started stroking his cock so Alfred isn't too surprised. He drains his glass, setting it aside and watching lazily as Arthur’s breathing gets heavier and his moans get louder. Francis really is very good though, the way that he assesses Alfred’s interest and plays Arthur’s body like an instrument, bringing him to the edge and back, over and over, again and again, until Arthur’s gasping and writhing, clawing at the sheets and cursing both their names. 

Alfred laughs gently, pinning Arthur’s hands to the bed with his own, lacing their finger together and not minding when Arthur digs his nails in. Francis is looking too, the corner of his mouth tipped up, and Alfred addresses him over Arthur’s head, lightly, as if the pair of them didn't have a desperate omega mewling into the bed between them. 

“You must be really good. I've heard the stories and Arthur’s hardly ever this noisy in bed… isn't that right, sweetheart? You like what Francis is doing to you?”

His queen lets out a short, breathless bark of half-affronted laughter that turns into a low groan when Francis smiles suggestively and does something with his hips again. “ _M-mm_ , you should try having him in y-you, see how it feels.” 

Alfred grins. “Yeah? I was thinking about that, y’ know…Maybe I could have you later, put my cock in you - fuck you while Francis fucks me.”

“My, giving _and_ receiving? How greedy of you, my love.” 

Arthur’s close though, mostly coherent or not. Alfred can tell, from the way his scent spikes, the honeyed smell of omega arousal flooding the room, the way his eyes can't quite focus on Alfred’s face. And Alfred isn't nearly as good at reading Francis’ cues _(they had all night, give him time)_ but he didn't seem like he was going to last much longer either. Arthur was good like that, Alfred knows - gods, just the memory of how it felt like, fucking him, the way _he_ felt, all hot and wet and inviting… 

He watches greedily as Arthur climaxes with a short, mangled cry that he tries to muffle in the bedsheets, whining pitifully in the back of his throat when he’s promptly coaxed away from them. Alfred doesn't relent though; he wants to see the pleasure on that pretty face, in the sex-dazed warmth of green eyes and the slant of thick brows, in the swell of bitten red lips and heavily flushed cheeks. 

Francis finishes too, more quietly than Arthur had, only to curse under his breath _(heh, looks like he hadn't quite planned on that)_ and start to shift back. Alfred stops him before he can pull out. 

“He likes when you come inside him,” he says simply, at the other alpha’s slightly startled look. “And I… well, I like whatever makes him happy.”

Francis blinks and then smiles, mouth curving. “An admirable outlook, I find.”

“Mfm. Alfie’s sweet like that,” Arthur murmurs from under them, sounding half-conscious and Alfred melts a little inside because _aww_. His adorable mate’s cheek is pressed to the mattress and he sighs contentedly when Alfred untangles their fingers so he can smooth the damp hair back from his forehead and stroke at the shell of his ear.

“Love you too, babe,” he says affectionately. “I take it that you like your present?”

Arthur grunts in a way that seemed like assent, so Alfred goes on, humming thoughtfully. “Maybe we should invite Kiku next time,” he muses. “Make a whole affair out of it, call it strengthening diplomatic relations…” 

That gets a faint snort out of Arthur, whose eyes were already drifting shut, but Francis laughs. “You’d make his day. His entire month, even, if you let him bring in that damned camera of his.”

He's still half-sprawled atop Arthur’s limp form, chin propped up on his palm and looking up with lazily satisfied blue eyes. His mouth was all red too, red and swollen and wet with saliva and the faint glossiness of slick from when he’d spread Arthur out over the sheets like a feast earlier and made him gasp and writhe and _come_ , over and over and then again until he’d been twitching at the stimulation and mewling at every touch. 

Alfred kind of wanted to kiss him. Just a little bit, just because he was curious. The man had to be _so_ good with his tongue, with the way he’d had Arthur falling apart just from that… 

“He is,” Arthur says suddenly and Alfred almost jumps, looking down to find his mate looking up at him with knowing eyes that were only drooping a little at the corners with exhaustion. “I know that look. I don't care whatever it is you're thinking, just kiss him, you dolt. It’s quite the experience.” Then, he yawns, jaw cracking. “Go on, then, make out with Francis for a while, love, ‘m tired.”

Alfred opens and closes his mouth in a distinctly fish-like way because _he didn't have to put it that bluntly, jeez_ but Francis just cracks a grin. “Oh? And here I was thinking you would instruct us to wait until you woke so you could watch.”

Arthur makes a disparaging noise. “Bah. I can watch that _later_ if I want to. Now get off me if you're going to fuck my husband, I need a nap. The two of you can wake me in another hour or so.” 

“Gods, your filter really is shot to hell when you're tired,” Alfred mumbles, cheeks warm, still petting his hair. “‘Sides, I know you, sweetheart. You’re gonna get all grouchy if we start without you.”

“And don't you deny it, _mon cheri,_ ” Francis puts in, carefully disentangling himself as ordered. Arthur shivers a little as his cock slips out and Alfred watches unabashedly, eyes drawn to the swell of Arthur’s ass, the curve of his hips, the trickle of come on those spread thighs. He wonders if Arthur would let him lick it away later, clean up the absolute mess left between his legs. Francis had already gotten his turn tonight, after all, and Arthur always tasted so good… 

“I can feel you ogling me, prat,” Arthur says and Alfred blinks innocently at his upturned, scowlly face. His tone had been caustic, but he hadn't told Alfred to _stop_ so it was probably all right. Alfred thinks. He probably shouldn't push his luck by reaching down to palm at that perfect ass, squeezing a little and grinning at Arthur’s sharp inhale and weak glare but well, nothing ventured, nothing gained, right? Francis looks faintly amused by all this, sitting cross-legged and eyeing Arthur’s ass with healthy interest. 

Alfred grins at their guest before going on to swipe his thumb over the warm, sticky combination of slick and come that’s positively dripping out of Arthur. He even nudges the tip of that thumb _inside_ , just a little, giving in to temptation because _why not_ and finding Arthur loose and wet and so very, very warm. 

It makes his queen’s breathing stutter, Arthur whining low in his throat and pressing his face into the bed. His ears were red. Alfred pushes deeper, enthralled by the sound Arthur makes, his minute squirming, the come that spills out of him in a rush of warmth as Alfred takes up the cramped space and inadvertently forces it out. 

The angle is terrible and was sorta making his wrist hurt but the sight more than makes up for it; Arthur lying prone, hands curling in the sheets, his hips shifting restlessly as Alfred strokes gently at his insides and - slowly, giving him plenty of time to protest - switches out the thumb for his middle and pointer fingers. 

He knows, distantly, that Arthur was probably too sensitive for this - hell, after everything he’d been put through, it was going to be a wonder if he could even _think_ about standing tomorrow. Arthur needed rest; Alfred could see him trembling all over, thighs quivering and body clenching as he was touched and stroked, his back arching, a soft gasp slipping past his lips as Alfred crooks his fingers and presses a little too close to the one spot that never fails to make him moan. 

Alfred doesn't want to stop though. He’s been hard since the very start of this, since he’d locked the door behind them and then watched as Francis coaxed Arthur into compliance with slow kisses and a hand around his nape, charming Alfred’s prickly queen enough that his wandering hands had been granted permission without so much as a token complaint. He’s been thorough; stripping Arthur bare and lavishing attention upon every inch of his skin before bending him over and slipping long, clever fingers deep inside. He’d fucked Arthur with that same fastidiousness, that attentiveness to every shiver, every stifled moan Arthur had let out.

Alfred had gotten to see it all; he knows now, from an outside perspective, how Arthur looks when he's on his knees or backed up against the wall, getting kissed and touched and fucked so well that he falls apart and comes back begging for more.

And well, now it’s his turn and Alfred can _feel_ how Arthur’s getting wetter, his body responding to the stimulation. He's limp and pliant when Alfred moves him, tugging him up to balance on his knees again, his ass in the air and his head in Alfred’s lap. His cheek ends up pressed to Alfred’s cock through his straining pants and it seems almost automatic, the way Arthur opens his mouth in response, turning his head and nuzzling closer and making Alfred groan. 

He thrusts harder, jabbing harshly at Arthur’s prostate and then - as his mate jolts and moans - drags his fingers apart, just to make Arthur cry out at the stretch. “You liked that, huh? I thought you would, with how loose you are now. Are two fingers even enough?”

Arthur chokes out a breath, arching his spine as Alfred gives him another, not even allowing him time to adjust before thrusting again, quick and rough. His knees have started to slide apart, muscles going lax with pleasure, and so Alfred forces him up again by curling his fingers and jerking them sharply, practically hauling Arthur upright and making him claw frantically at the bedsheets, keening. His face is still pressed to Alfred’s crotch and gods, the way he was moaning felt _divine_.

Alfred cups his face with his free hand, stroking at his cheekbone and admiring the flutter of Arthur’s lashes and the wet, vacant sheen to his green eyes and _oh…_

“You're drooling, sweetheart,” he says gently, just about purring in satisfaction at seeing Arthur reduced to this state. Yeah, he’d had help - help who was now staring openly at his mate’s gorgeous ass - but it was a good look on that pretty face and Alfred basks in it. He lets Arthur rest his cheek on his thigh when it becomes clear that he can't even hold his head up anymore, petting his hair and cooing over him adoringly as he lets Arthur catch his breath.

He glances over in the meantime, at Francis, who was looking downright _ravenous_. His eyes were on Arthur, on his ass, on Alfred’s fingers buried deep inside, and he’s pleasuring himself to it, fingers curled around his own cock and pumping. 

“You can touch, if you want to,” Alfred offers, lazily, feeling pleasantly hot all over as he touches and touches and listens to Arthur’s jagged breathing, the way it hitches every time Alfred so much as twitches his fingers. He was disposed to be magnanimous; he’d been the one to invite Francis to their bedroom, after all, and he's sure that Arthur would have been flattered by the appreciation if he’d been in any sort of shape to notice. “I'm gonna fuck him after this though, so anything’s fine as long as you keep your dick to yourself for now.”

It’s entitled; his tone is lazy and proprietary because that’s how Arthur _loves_ being talked about when he’s like this, like he’s property, like Alfred fucking owns him. It was the sort of language Arthur would probably have given him a black eye for, outside the bedroom, but now, on his knees and half-blissed out from who-even-knew-how-many orgasms, his mate just whimpers and squirms, dripping slick all over his own trembling thighs. Alfred can feel it leaking out past his fingers; hell, he could _smell_ it and it was making his head spin. 

“Fair enough,” Francis says after a second, voice deliciously rough with arousal. Alfred thinks his accent is cute too. Not as cute as Arthur’s, but then again, no one was as cute as Arthur so it was hardly a fair comparison. Francis was still really pretty though, and Alfred watches avidly as the other alpha gets onto his back and - _oh, good idea, that_ \- wriggles in between Arthur’s legs so he can suck him off. 

Arthur makes a really, really good sound too, at that. His body goes rigid for half a second and then he _melts_ and gods, the look on his face as he moans… 

Alfred doesn't stop fucking him with his fingers, cradling his neck with his other hand because he knows Arthur likes that too. He doesn't even touch himself, too enraptured with _Arthur, Arthur, Arthur_ as his mate shudders all over and climaxes with a strangled cry. Francis swallows all of it, or at least Alfred thinks so, those hands lingering on Arthur’s thighs, fingers digging into the soft flesh and holding them apart as Arthur spasms and tries to collapse. 

And Alfred- well, it’s all Alfred can do not to come in his pants just like that. Arthur’s so warm inside and he tenses and relaxes and then clenches down so fucking _hard_ as he orgasms that Alfred can't even move his fingers without him whimpering, so sweet and desperate and aching that Alfred’s already imagining how it would feel like being buried inside him, filling him up and having that hot little ass squeezing his cock so tightly. 

“You're a fucking menace, I swear,” Alfred tells him lovingly, not really sure how much sense he was making as he stroked Arthur’s hair and waited patiently for his breathing to calm. He could feel Arthur’s heartbeat, if he wants to, if he puts his fingers to Arthur’s neck, just under his jaw. It flutters under his fingertips, too-quick but regular and steady, not at all like the way that Arthur’s gasping for air like a drowning man, clutching desperately at Alfred’s thigh with white knuckles. It hurt a little, but Alfred’s really more concerned with the way that his mate seemed upon the verge of hyperventilating. 

“Breathe, baby, breathe,” he croons soothingly, aware that Francis is now sitting up and easing Arthur down to lie on his back. “You're gonna pass out at this rate and then where would we be, hmm? You _know_ what happened the last time I took that first aid course - really wanna be my patient?”

Arthur’s eyes were still a little glassy but he coughs out what might have been a wet sort of laugh at that. “G-gods, no…an-anything but that…” 

“Oh dear,” Francis puts in, managing a half-smile. He’s rubbing lightly at Arthur’s knee in slow, gentle circles. It seemed to be helping. “Now _that_ sounds like quite the interesting story.”

“One that I’m taking to my grave,” Alfred tells him seriously, just to make Arthur wheeze out a laugh again. “I declared it a national secret too, so no one can tell you. Well, except Arthur but I think he’s a bit busy remembering how to breathe after that fucking awesome orgasm we gave him, right, sweetheart?”

Arthur bares his teeth and only croaks a little when he says, “ _Twat_.” (Alfred takes the name-calling as the sign of affection that it is. Arthur doesn't even swat him away when Alfred leans down to press a kiss to his temple.)

“Feeling better, I take it,” Francis says dryly. “A break might still be in order, I think, before we continue… _If_ we are continuing?”

“‘Course we are.” It’s Arthur who answers. His voice was a little raw but there was no real room for disagreement in it and Alfred starts to shrug his own assent when his mate goes on, looking more than a little smug.

“And _my_ break starts now, as I sit back and watch two exceedingly handsome alphas fuck.” 

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> (Alfred, right after that: you think I'm handsome?? :D)
> 
> -  
> I'll be pretty busy with exams so this will be my last fic for a few weeks... *waves sadly*


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